Housewarming REBOOT
by RochelleRene
Summary: Reading the intro to the fic will explain this. For this one case  I promise , I wanted to reboot an old fic. It was my first; I'm mourning the end of  H ;  This is my catharsis. :


**Hey, everyone.**

** So this is sort of weird, and I know I run the risk of some people thinking it's lame, but so be it. **

**This fic is the first one I ever wrote and I found out that the House Cuddy Live Journal group is reading it, or has read it, whatever. So when I heard this, I naturally went back to reread it and got all emotional about the Huddy fandom and my tiny part in it. [H] is ending…My first fic… etc. etc.**

** So it's been turning over in my mind because of how the show has gone, how my understanding of Huddy has adjusted, how my writing style has changed, and I just had to revise it. Some spots I hacked away at and rewrote, some are whole new mini scenes, and others I just tweaked a little bit. But I think it's far better. It's less heavy-handed, more focused on them and not just the sex (Man, that was a horny summer writing for "Now What!"), and more in character. But it's still my style: They're crazy hot for each other, she brings out a softer side of him, and they banter incessantly. And I did nothing two the last two lines that people enjoyed so much. **

** Don't worry, I won't be "re-releasing" old fics to be annoying. This one just has a special place among the ones that have a special place for me. It was the beginning – The summer after "Help Me"… So much potential… That's what I had wanted to capture. So if you reread it, I hope you like it. If you think this is dumb, sorry but I don't. And I'm still working on new stuff, don't worry.**

** RR**

Cuddy's den was warm from the fire. She entered after putting Rachel to bed to find House stretched on the sofa, wire-rimmed glasses on, reading with a slight frown on his face. She watched him for a moment. Though she loved when he was there in her house, she was always unsure what to do next. Alone with him, in the intimate environment of her home, she'd still feel shy and edgy at first. Even after months, it was still uncharted territory. Work was easy – innuendo, fighting, stolen passionate moments - but "home" was still tricky. He was a tamed-but-wild animal -still screwed-up, moody House – and it made it hard to know what he would do moment to moment.

She sat on his lap with a tired sigh and he reached down and put his hand on her thigh, lightly rubbing his thumb back and forth, but not looking up from his reading. He loved being in the same room with her. Just touching her drove him crazy, but he had to be cool… Tonight, he had a plan. He reached out and took a gulp of the ice water Cuddy had brought with her and handed it back without a word. She liked that he was being all "nest-y" like this and she was prepared to just read or watch TV and hang out with him for the night.

"What are you reading?" she asked, not really caring, but wanting to talk to him.

"Letter from Thirteen," he murmured, still reading. "Says she left because her lustful passion for me was too much to resist, but she heard about us and knows you're a psycho bitch who could destroy her."

Cuddy smiled. She could see from there that it was actually an article from a medical journal. "Well that's good," she replied, "I don't need another thing to do."

"That's what I said," he replied, still not looking up. She was about to tell him that she was going to go change – she was still in her work clothes – when he beat her to it.

"Got an idea," he declared, tossing his reading aside and removing his glasses. He wore a smirk and the slightest arch in his brow, so she knew it was going to be something she needed to be convinced to do. From under the sofa he pulled the most battered old board game box. "Sorry, Cuddy." She looked down at the tattered box of "Sorry," then looked up at him. He had caused her a lot of shit that week – somehow flooding a men's room to pull a prank on Wilson (which she still didn't quite understand), pissing off a patient's father by accusing him of cheating on his wife (though he was right, per usual) - just the usual House crap. Granted, he had done sweet things too – leaving a lunch on her desk during a particularly crazy day (But of course with a note that read, "Don't forget to feed your big ass!") and buying a gift for Rachel (But candy cigarettes? Who even sells those still?). Yet despite the backrubs (which always led to sex), the flowers (stolen), or even the occasional genuine compliments (usually about her butt), he still was her biggest headache and never could muster an appropriate apology. She'd have to take what she could get - even board game puns.

"It's fine, House. The week's over," she sighed, sinking deeper into the couch.

"Uh, no… You misunderstand. 'Sorry,' the game. That's my idea." He was not just cleverly apologizing.

"You want to play Sorry?" she asked. He nodded eagerly with his eyebrows raised, like a kid. "It's nine o'clock on a Friday night, Rachel's asleep, we're alone, and you want to play Sorry?" she clarified. He stood up clumsily while hoisting her off the couch, board game tucked under one arm.

"You've obviously played it – Look at this box. Don't poop on my party, Cuddy," he said with a pout.

He lay on his side and started spreading out the contents on the floor in front of the fire. "What color do you want to be?" he asked. "I'm blue." Of course he picked first, grinning at her and daring her to want to be blue too. Cuddy just couldn't figure this out… There had to be more to this… But then again, that's part of why she loved this crazy relationship. It was nine o'clock on a Friday night and they weren't falling asleep in front of the TV or even getting naked. He was up to something and now she had to know what. House, meanwhile, was exercising patience, waiting his plan out. The whole time he was setting up the game, he stared at her legs - gorgeously accentuated by what he knew were black thigh-highs - but he didn't let on.

At first they just played and she was baffled. There was banter and trash talk – about Sorry of all things – but nothing strange. She settled into it finally and the thought occurred to her that House was in an uncharacteristically domestic mood. Then he drew a card and was able to move one of his five blue pieces "home." "Hot dog!" he yelled, in an exaggerated southern drawl. Cuddy rolled her eyes and was about to draw her next card when his low gravelly voice said, "Your panties, Cuddy."

She felt a jolt of shock move through her and settle low in the core of her. It's not like he hadn't talked about her panties for the last twenty years, but she had just let her guard down to play this silly game. "What about them, House?" she quipped back, barely glancing up to try to hide being flustered.

"Take them off," he ordered plainly. She couldn't hide anything from him and he got excited just seeing her response – her surprise, the slight shift of her legs that she made when turned on. She looked up at him quizzically. "Oh, I for-_got_…" he said, hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand, "This is _strip_ Sorry." Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him.

"Strip Sorry."

"Yeah," he said, "Sorry." He grinned wickedly at her. God, he loved making her speechless. "See, I just got a man home, so I get to tell you what to take off." They stared at each other, blue eyes to blue eyes, each daring the other to back down. "Ergo… Your panties, Cuddy."

"Well, now that I know the stakes, watch out, House," she warned, reaching up her skirt to wiggle out of her panties. She pulled them down her long, lean legs, maneuvering them over the stilettos she was still wearing. Leave it to House to choose panties first. He just lay there, propped on his elbow, watching her snake bright pink lace down her curves. She saw his eyes just devouring her and she felt that twinge in her core again. She knew he had a lot more than this going in his head and it filled her with that familiar sickly sweet mixture of desire and trepidation deep in her stomach – her "House" feeling.

"Gimme," he said, reaching a hand out. She threw them at him meanly - as meanly as one can throw panties - and he just held them, absentmindedly playing with them while he returned to the game board. She had no idea how many of her panties he had by now, and didn't really want to know what he did with them all. His obsessions always teetered on that line between endearing and creepy. By some stroke of luck, her next card allowed her to send a piece "home" too. She smirked at him and arched a brow. He raised an eyebrow in response and smirked right back, clearly not the least bit worried.

"Your pants, Dr. House."

"Can't. That's against the rules," he replied coolly.

"What?" she exclaimed. "House, how is that against the rules?"

He explained, "You can only take off one thing at a time. To take off my pants, I'd have to take off my shoes first. That would be cheating." Cuddy glared at him.

"I kept my shoes on," she protested.

"And I believe your panties slid right on over them, no?" he asked with a lopsided grin. She just stared at him for a moment, loving to hate him.

"Fine, House. Shoes," she sulked. He kicked his shoes off, grinning, and continued playing. The game just continued for a few turns, but the energy of the room had changed completely. Cuddy now noticed how House kept looking over at her, first at her face, then letting his eyes wander slowly down her body. Her desire for him was increasing exponentially, and she started shifting a bit more.

"Not comfortable, babe?" he asked. "Got an itch I can scratch?" She just sighed and took her turn, which allowed her to send her second piece home.

"Ah-ha!" she celebrated. "_Now_, your pants, House." His clear blue eyes just stared right into hers as he stood up, undid his fly and dropped his pants to the floor. He didn't care anymore about his scar – she'd seen it hundreds of times. These were the little moments that let her know that he was hers. "Mhm," she sort of sang, triumphantly, staring at his crotch. This only made him smile. "Why do men have no conflicted feelings about being objectified?" she asked him. "No shyness or notions of deserving more respect…"

"Because men have no conflicted feelings about _sex_, Cuddy," he answered. "You wanna smile at my penis? I'm not shy. And I find it a proper gesture of respect for such a perfect specimen."

"You're disgusting."

"See, it's good that you think so, though. If women worked like men, we wouldn't even get through a full game of Strip Sorry, what with all the genital smiling that would be going on."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, but couldn't help glancing at his boxers again and smiling.

"Saw that," he noted, "And it's my turn," he said, dropping back to the floor and smacking her hard on the ass as he reached for another card. She was in trouble now – another man home. He looked at her, letting the tension build a bit. He wanted to just attack her right then, but he knew the longer he drew out the night, the hotter it would all be. He didn't even say anything, just scooted over to her so that they were lying on their sides, inches away. He slowly started unbuttoning her shirt, carefully and calmly, revealing her matching pink bra. He pulled the shirttails out of her skirt's waist and slid it down the back of her shoulders, his thumbs trailing behind so they grazed her skin gently as the fabric was removed. She sucked in her breath, just the littlest bit, and his mouth barely, barely grazed hers. He licked his lips, "accidentally" licking her hers too. Her eyes were closed and she wasn't breathing…

"Your turn!" he declared, jolting her out of that moment as he rolled back to his spot. _Dammit_. She couldn't even think. That man. "Prepare to get chilly, House," she warned. Sadly, she drew again and it was fruitless.

"Brrr," he mocked her. He went again and got another piece home.

"You've rigged this!" she accused. "What did you do, set the cards up ahead of time?"

"Don't be such a sore loser, Cuddy," he said, "and take off your bra." She suddenly felt both turned on and shy, like a high schooler. She bit her lip. He raised his eyebrows and gestured with his hand for her to get going. She had to get control of this thing. He couldn't do all the teasing. She reached slowly behind her back and unhooked her bra. Shaking her shoulders a bit, she let it drop off her with a feathery sound. House stared at her breasts, lit only by the fire, and he had to adjust his boxers. No matter how many times he saw them, they were perfect, and he was finding it difficult to remember why he was dragging this game out. She smiled slightly at him, then abruptly rolled onto her belly and kicked her legs up like a kid lying on a bed, hiding her breasts in the rug. "You and your goddamn _respect_," House grumbled.

"My turn!" she sang, leaving House to recover his focus after having his precious view suddenly snatched away. Cuddy picked a card, sent a piece home and told House, "Take off your socks. You look silly in socks with no pants." House kicked a leg over to wiggle a foot under her nose, then pulled his sock off and threw it at her. "I'll treasure it," she stated flatly, proud because his childish antics showed her that she'd frustrated him.

The play had continued for a couple of turns when House sent another piece home. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and started to unzip her skirt. He reached over and stopped her, pinning her hand behind her. Then he slid over to her, lifted her hair with his other hand and began kissing her neck, his stubble rough on her soft skin, his tongue tasting her. God, it was heaven feeling his lips on her finally. The fire was warm on her face and the top of her chest, and his mouth was even hotter against the back of her neck. She let a low purr escape her throat as his mouth slid over to her ear. He was sucking her earlobe now and she felt herself getting shaky. A tension was slowly building between her legs and she was completely obsessed with him – his body over hers, his mouth against her skin, his breath in her ear. Suddenly he stopped and pulled away, smiling.

"What?" she asked. He stuck his tongue out and there was her earring.

"The other one too," he demanded, "I took off _both_ socks."

"Come get it," she dared, smirking at him.

But he heard that shakiness in her voice, giving her away in spite of her cool demeanor. "So lazy," he scolded her and tsked as he came back over to her and straddled her back. She felt his heat above her, and as he bent his head to hers he made a point of pressing himself against her, showing her his arousal. Truth be told, it was all he could do not to hike her skirt up and fuck her silly, but messing with her was so erotically fun. As he bent to kiss the other side of her neck, moving her hair aside almost a little violently, she arched up to rub against him. She heard an involuntary growl emerge from the unflappable House as he approached her ear and removed her other earring just as skillfully. Then he pushed down against her once - long, hard, and slow - then twice…

Then he scooted off of her and back to his spot. He smiled at her. It was a wide and rare smile that only she got to see - He was having fun. It was fleeting, however, and morphed into his usual wry grin quickly as he reminded her, "You need to catch up, Cuddy."

It was no use. Cuddy's turn was uneventful and House's next turn took his last piece home. "I win," he said flatly, staring at her.

"Congratulations," she replied, coolly meeting his gaze. He crawled over to her and rolled her over onto her back. Damn, she was gorgeous. The light from the fire was dancing all over her skin and shining in her eyes. Her mouth was just slightly open and she was breathing hard, causing her breasts to move just slightly. He loved when he had her right here –where she thought she was keeping her image intact, but the sweat at her temples, her dilated pupils, and the rise and fall of her chest told him everything; where she wanted him and was waiting to follow his lead. Of course, _he_ wanted _her_ constantly – first thing in the morning, catching a glimpse of her in the hospital, arguing with her in her office - but at these moments, when her desire was so evident and raw, it was like addiction. He craved her; he binged on her; he felt better for a while. He gently kissed her forehead, her nose, her chin, the hollow in her neck. He kissed her toned stomach and then nuzzled his face between her legs, her skirt the only barrier. She put her hands on the back of his head and urged him to continue. She pulled his shirt up over his head and he was roused out of his hormonal tunnel vision. He abruptly stood up.

"Get up," he said cheerfully, like they were going to a movie or something. She was shaky and confused, but excited and curious.

"Why is it always a circus with you?" she whined. "What's wrong with here?"

"Nothing," he replied, "but the winner gets to pick the positions and I intend to take advantage of that. I'm a very strategic player." She grinned at his devious little grin.

"Position-S?" she asked, noting the plurality. "Your ambition never rests, Romeo."

"I am a _winner_, Cuddy. You might not understand the pressure that puts on a person, seeing as you're the _loser,_" he teased. Cuddy was mid-eye roll, tired of his lecturing, when she had an idea – the easiest way to wrest control back from a man. Simple. Straightforward. Sexy. She came up to her knees in front of him. She ran her hands down his stomach and reached around to his ass. She put her face against him, only a thin piece of fabric separating her mouth from his sex, and she breathed a slow hot breath against him. House put one hand in her hair and let out a shaky breath. She slipped a finger into his fly and began running it along him. She felt his legs tense and a small groan escaped him. "Cuddy, _I won_," he said, almost whispering with the effort of stopping her, "and I told you to stand up. Cheaters never win." She persisted, though, and lowered his boxers enough to plant one slow kiss on him… Then one more…

Then she stood up. The tables _had_ turned. He took a moment to open his eyes and register that she wasn't down there anymore. He had almost forgotten what he was doing, what with her warm mouth against him and her soft hair in his hands. He blinked at her a few times, then took both her hands.

She was literally _painfully_ aching for him and could see it was mutual. He walked her just a few feet away to her desk, kicked the chair out with one foot and stood her in front of it. He stared intensely into her eyes as he bent just a bit to reach the hem of her tight skirt. He pulled it up slowly, inch by inch, until it was bunched at her tiny waist. Still staring in his clear, piercing eyes, she felt herself on fire from being this close. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began grinding her hips against him, just his boxers separating them. He groaned and let her continue for a few moments, but then grabbed her pelvis and held her still. "You know it's always you first," he scolded.

Yup, she knew that.

He pushed her down to sit in the chair. Her breath was so shallow and uneven she thought she might faint. House knelt down in front of her, framed between her legs. "Breathe, Cuddy," he reminded her. She closed her eyes and took a deep trembling breath. He was just looking at her - just kneeling there moving his eyes up and down her body - and she thought she might come. His focus and attention completely absorbed in admiring her was too much.

He couldn't look at her enough. He was visually gorging. He reached up and cupped one of her breasts and pressed his other hand on her thigh. He kissed her hard on the mouth, sucking her bottom lip for moment. Then he kissed down her neck to her breasts. His thumb was stroking her nipple and he moved his mouth to the other. She felt electricity shooting through her and she was writhing in the chair. His other hand slowly - painfully slowly - inched toward her sex. She felt a finger just barely graze her. "Please, God. Please, House," she begged.

"God can't help you now," House replied smugly, his mouth still on her breast, and he slid two fingers into her. She moaned a long, low moan. Finally, at least part of him was inside of her. She began bucking in the chair, trying to get the friction she was craving, but he removed his other hand from her breast and grabbed her hips, steadying her. He held her as still as he could and began moving inside of her at a slow steady pace. He'd watch her and try to manipulate her state of mind. He'd get her to where her legs started to tremble and his single arm strength wasn't enough to keep her rear in the chair, then he'd slow, ease off the pressure a bit, bringing her back from the edge.

"I swear I'm losing my mind," she cried out. "Please, please, please."

"Please what?" he asked innocently.

"God, House!" she yelled.

"I want to hear you say it, Cuddy," he told her, which she already knew. He still had to coax these things out of her more-reserved personality, but it was getting easier for him. He loved pushing her to want it more, to want him so badly that she stopped caring about what she looked or sounded like. Getting Cuddy to talk dirty – such an epic fantasy. It never got old.

She said with a raspy moan, "Please lick me." House immediately began licking her thigh, the place where her leg met her pelvis, her panty line. She let out an exasperated, sexual groan.

"I'm sorry," he teased, "Am I not doing it right?" He looked at her with raised eyebrows, smirking.

"Please lick my clit, you ass," she said. He smiled widely. It was the exact same voice she used when he misused the MRI machine. He loved that she would simultaneously talk dirty to him and be so pissed at him because he knew only he could do this to her. "Man, you're so _dirty_, Cuddy," he chided, laughing a little in spite of himself. She kicked him in the ribs. "Ah! And violent!" he added." You put New Jersey hookers to shame." She was pretty much ignoring him and lightly slamming the back of her head against the chair, so he took pity on her. He did as ordered and listed to her relieved moan. He licked her, he nibbled her, he sucked her. He used his hands to pull her hips closer down to the edge of the chair, so he could do everything better. He was everywhere at once. Her hands were pressed on the back of his head, nails digging in. He was finally being kind and slowly picking up the pace, the pressure. He felt her tensing and heard her moaning his name. "Please don't stop," she whispered, and he didn't.

Cuddy's whole body suddenly tensed for a second, then rocked and writhed with unbelievable power, and he felt the waves of her orgasm on his mouth, in his hands. He kept kissing, sucking, licking, slowly lowering the pressure, riding her wave until it was over and she lay limp in the chair, literally panting. Her head was turned to one side, facing the fire, and her eyes were closed. He stared at her beauty. Here, when she was truly relaxed, free of all of her worries and inhibitions, he loved her the most. He liked to think that he was the only one who could take her to this place. He sat up a bit on his knees and laid his head on her chest, listening to her heart trying to bust through her ribs. He wrapped his arms around her body and just smelled her skin as she recovered. She looked down at him embracing her and she was so goddamn in love it was retarded. She placed one hand on his head, and used her other fingers to trace his face, his eyes, his lips. He'd kiss them as they passed over his mouth, but otherwise he was letting her get her bearings. It was sweet since she knew he was still in a very bad way.

After a few minutes her breathing had resumed a semi-normal pace and her heart rate had slowed. "Can you stand?" he asked. She smiled seductively and nodded. He stood up and pulled her up to meet him. He kissed her hard on the mouth, his tongue running along her bottom lip, then chasing hers. His hands roamed slowly over her, groping her breasts, her back, her butt. She was reminded that he had had no release at all, and the idea of his sexual neediness started to arouse her again. He kissed her neck and slid his hands around her waist, slowly moving behind her. She felt his knee on the back of her leg pushing her to step forward and she was facing the desk. "Bend over, Dr. Cuddy," he whispered into her ear, still gripping her waist. She exhaled and bent at the waist, propping her arms on the desk. House sat back in the chair for a moment and sighed. There she was, her skirt hiked up revealing her absolutely perfect ass, thigh-highs and stilettos acting like some kind of pedestal for this amazing creation. This sight had been in his wet-dreams since he'd started working for her, but this was the real thing.

She looked back at him over her shoulder."Anytime, now, House. This woman's not about to screw herself."

He looked at her face for a half second before returning his gaze to her rear. "You know when you argue with me in your office," he told her, "this is all I think about. All these years, I have never heard a word you said." She laughed. She knew about his whole office fantasy. Even after they had done it on this desk dozens of times, in every way imaginable, he still loved it. She guessed that's what happened when a guy had the hots for his boss for a decade. He'd pestered - almost begged - to have a rendezvous on her actual desk at work, but that was a bargaining chip she was not offering except under extreme duress.

"Well," she replied, "I hope it's everything you imagined it to be."

"It's better!" he exclaimed, "Your ass is at least twice as big as I imagined it." She laughed again as he kissed each cheek affectionately and stood up behind her. She heard the soft sound of him sliding his boxers down. He put a hand on either side of her on the desk. She felt his body heat, his pelvis pressing against her ass. She was ready for him again. His hands were skilled, his mouth was amazing, but nothing was like him inside of her. She heard him breathing, trying to sound calm but getting overcome with his own desire. He pushed against her, ran his hands down her sides, up her stockings, over her butt. He bent and kissed the small of her back, the back of her neck, then placed his hands back on the desk, right over hers. She looked at his forearms and pushed up a little, just to feel his strength pushing her back down.

He didn't even need guidance, he knew her body so well by now. He pushed against her at just the right angle, slowly and smoothly entering her. She gasped and he groaned, like every time. "God, Cuddy," House moaned, just staying still for a moment, getting her used to him. Then he started moving, finding their rhythm. She felt her hips being pushed against the desk, her breasts bouncing as he thrust into her again and again. She was making sounds she never knew she could make and he was loving it. His sighs that moaned a little at the end told her he was in the zone, thinking about nothing but her.

Playing with his office fantasy she said, haltingly between breaths, "You know, I _am_ your boss." She could somehow _feel_ him smile. But then – never to be outdone – he suddenly stopped, pulled out of her, and stepped back a bit. He was not even touching her except for his hands clamped over hers. "You're absolutely right," he agreed, "This is completely inappropriate."

"Goddammit, House!" she yelled, needing his fullness back, like, immediately.

He pushed against her entrance, but held back. "Cuddy, the last thing I need is a sexual harassment lawsuit," he whined.

"I will fire you!" she yelled. He laughed quietly and then, just as suddenly, pushed deep inside her again, making her cry out.

"I'll have to make myself indispensible then," he whispered in her ear.

He moved faster, his hands tensing over hers. She was getting so overcome she started to lay down even more on the desk and he moved his hands to her hips, holding her while he pushed. She heard him making little puffs of exertion and she knew he was trying to restrain himself, waiting for her. She was so close, but she knew what she needed. "House, let go. I want to feel you."

He was done for. He began just wildly moving into her, and with a long moan he fell over the edge. Knowing and feeling this pushed her over right behind him and her muscles tensed and released around him, a hundred times a second. The whole room was filled with the crackle of the fire and their sounds and their breathing. They gradually slowed and he finally sat back and flopped into the chair, pulling Cuddy with him. They sat there, gasping. Waves still ran through her occasionally, the aftershocks of her orgasm, and he stayed warm inside of her. His hands were on her thighs, slowly petting her while he found the world again. Her head was lolling back on his shoulder, her eyes half-closed.

She turned a little, to see his face. His head was leaning against the top of the chair's back and his eyes were closed. He licked his lips and, never opening his eyes, murmured, "You're my best friend, you know." Her heart filled, but she also got nervous. These proclamations were rare and she knew they could make him skittish, even in this relaxed state. She already felt his fingers tense a little on her legs. She started to reply, "House-" but he interrupted. "Wilson's alright," he continued, "but he's kind of a bore. And you're definitely better in the sack." She laughed quietly, with joy from his expression of love and with relief at his ability to diffuse the awkward tension. She kissed the side of his head.

They sat there for a few minutes, maybe forever, just feeling awesome. But Cuddy, just as House had accused many a time, was a bit of a nympho. She felt him still inside of her and she wanted more. She sat up and leaned forward just a bit and began to rock very slowly on him. He stirred from his half-asleep relaxation with a small groan. His hands moved to her lower back, and skated around her waist and hips. As she moved around him, she felt him start to get excited again. "Jesus, woman," House murmured, "I give and I give, but it's never enough for you." Cuddy just smiled to herself and picked up the intensity a bit. One of House's hands reached around to touch her. She almost purred. He sat forward and parted her hair, kissing the back of her neck. Then he cupped one of her breasts. "What are you doing to me?" House groaned.

"I can stop if you-" she teased.

"No!" he said, before she'd even finished the sentence. They tension was building when House said in her ear, "Lie on the floor. I want to see you." She stopped moving and just squeezed down with her muscles for a second, making him gasp ever-so-slightly. Then she got off of him, feeling his absence like a hole in her heart, and sprawled on the floor in front of the fire. Again, he sat for a moment and just took her in. Her crazy tangled mane of hair spread out on the rug and down her shoulders. Her eyes glinting mischievously in the firelight. The way her skin shone - like she was lit from within - and stretched tautly over every hill and valley of her perfectly sculpted body. He got up and went and stood by her. He crouched down, grabbed the glass of water she had been drinking when they were playing the game (God, was that the same night?) and chugged it all, hoping it would help him make this successful…

"Don't offer me any or anything…" she chided.

"C'mon, Cuddy. You're used to this, Little Miss Mulit-gasm," he rebuked. "It isn't every day that a _guy_ gets the chance to play a double header. I need nourishment." He made a fake serious face to make her smile her wide smile again. Then he lay over her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She held his face in her hands and looked into his eyes so long he got spooked and had to look away. He loved her and didn't want to screw it up by making anything weird. He could tease her, objectify her, hell, even insult her, but letting it all out was too risky. So he buried his face in her neck and began sucking her skin, salty from the sweat of their efforts. She moved her hands to the back of his head and guided him down to her breasts. He gladly followed her lead and felt a surge in his groin that told him this was going to work. She tasted so good. She smelled so good. She felt so good. He couldn't stop wanting her for a second… She was his drug of choice now. _A fourth Vicodin? Don't mind if I do._

Cuddy felt House's mouth on her breasts, his hand groping between her legs. He was clumsier now, all sleepy and loose from having just come minutes ago. He was touching her in a more selfish way, not worrying as much about every move he made on her behalf, but just feeling her all over the way a teenager would. He maneuvered himself in place and kissed her as he entered her. Same groan, same gasp, as always. He pulled his face away and propped himself on his elbows, holding her face between his hands as he moved in her, in so deep, slowly out, then in so deep again. They were both breathing in short bursts, neither trying to act unfazed or in control. They were just plain humping now – no power struggle or games.

She used her legs to pull tighter around his waist and tilt herself up more, so she could feel him even deeper. He laughed a little and let go of her face, grabbing her thighs and pushing them back while he moved. "There's no place left to go, lady," he laughed while breathing hard, "Unless you want an amateur vaginal lengthening surgery… I _am_ a doctor." She was panting and felt him deep within her and was so turned on she couldn't banter. Instead, she moved her hand down her body to touch herself. "Sorry for the only two arms thing," he stammered with another laugh. He saw her touching herself and it was too much. He stared at the fire for a moment to calm himself.

"House," Cuddy whispered. He looked down at her face and just then she fell. Her body shook and he felt the tremors all around him. He pushed into her so hard and so fast and in moments he was overcome again. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead in the crook of her neck.

Against his will and through his gritted teeth the words tumbled out in a whisper against her skin. "I love you." Finally, he let her legs go and flopped on top of her, trying not to crush her ribs. She tickled his back and nuzzled his ear and neck while she panted beneath him.

"I always know that," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

He was sprawled on top of her like a sleepy bear. She wanted to check for a pulse. "So did I break your penis?" she asked, starting to laugh.

"Sort of," he answered, his gaping mouth half-pressed against her chest. "It will never function properly for any other women. You've ruined me."

Cuddy smiled as reached down to pat his bare ass. "All part of my master plan." He chuckled and rolled to her side, still with one arm and leg across her and they stared at the fire in a post-coital bliss. Their lids grew heavy. They fell asleep for a bit. House didn't know if it was the chill or his throbbing leg that woke him, but the fire had cooled to embers and Cuddy was asleep, but shivering. He got up and grimaced at the pain, but he limped over to the sofa, got his cane, and then went to her sleeping side. He steeled himself to make one last effort on her behalf that night. He scooped her up. It was silly, but chivalry was easiest for him when she wasn't actually present or was only half-conscious. He knew he couldn't do it without his cane, sore as he was, so he had to stir her a little and have her wrap her legs around him, her head flopping on his shoulder. As he hobbled them toward her room, she whispered into his neck sleepily, "I love you."

"Yeah, I bet you say that to all the cripples who sex you up and then carry you to your bed," he whispered back.

"I do," she admitted. "Makes them feel guilty for objectifying me. Then they make me breakfast." House beamed into the dark hall.

He pulled down the sheets and laid her down. He slipped in next to her and wrapped his arms and legs around her to warm her up. Staring at her peaceful, perfect face, he started to feel nervous. This was too much - She could shatter him and it terrified him. He rolled away to stop thinking about all the ways he could screw this up, but he knew from the stabbing throb of his leg that sleep wouldn't come easily. He reached for the remote and turned the TV on in Cuddy's room, lowering the volume and finding an old crappy kung-fu movie to zone out to.

Cuddy stirred a little. She rolled over and worked her way under his arm, her mouth kissing his ribs a few times. She didn't open her eyes or say a word, but reached one small hand across him and rubbed his wounded leg with long, deep strokes, trying to ease some of the tension out of the mangled muscle. He no longer startled when she touched it. He stared at the movie, wove a hand into her hair to silently thank her both for the gesture and for not talking about it, and he tried, as he did every night, to keep himself from falling in love with her even more. Yet every morning he woke up to find he'd lost _that _game.


End file.
